


Care of Cell 44

by nevercomestheday



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Letters, M/M, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon, Prison, Swearing, Waiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5318699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevercomestheday/pseuds/nevercomestheday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Always so careless, that Vic.</p><p>And yet, here you are, caring for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Care of Cell 44

**Author's Note:**

> These characters do not belong to me, they belong to Quentin Tarantino.
> 
> Title comes from the Zombies' song, Care of Cell 44. I listened to that a lot while writing this, actually. 
> 
> Enjoy <3

You can't write him.

 

It breaks your heart into a million pieces, but you know it's for both of your safety, not to mention Daddy and the business.

 

Waiting for him to come home is like watching paint dry, even with work still being crazy as ever.

 

You have to stop yourself constantly from dialing his number on your drive back to your apartment, and it takes every bit of your strength not to break down and cry when you don't smell his aftershave and cigarettes in your sheets.

 

You can't bring yourself to sit in his usual space on your couch. Sometimes, just looking at it pulls your heart to the floor.

 

Three weeks into his sentence and your mind is ready to explode. There are so many things you want to tell him, so many stupid, random thoughts you didn't realize you always emptied onto him.

 

Sure, you can't send him letters, but that doesn't mean you can't _write_ them.

 

The first letter is so sappy, even if you could send it, you'd chuck it in the trash. He'd laugh his ass off at the first three instances of "I miss you".

 

Eventually you're not just writing him a letter, you're journaling his absence. Every other night before bed, you find yourself with a pen in your hand and a cigarette between your lips, and every time ash hits your wrist, you're reminded of how often he'd accidentally burn you going in for a kiss. Always so careless, that Vic.

 

And yet, here you are, caring for him.

 

Occasionally you hear through the grapevine he's doing all right. You catch wind of Daddy's care packages (sent through someone else, of course), and your heart leaps.

 

One day, somehow, you manage to slip a Milky Way into the box while Dov walks it out of the office.

 

He'll know.

 

The years impossibly pass, never getting easier but always getting shorter. You get word he's being released in two weeks.

 

Hiding your excitement is a Herculean feat, and you don't do such a great job, but who cares? Vic is coming home.

 

You spend a week planning how you'll pick him up. The idea of flowers actually comes to your mind for a full minute before you realize just how pathetic that would be.

 

Part of you wants to give him the massive stack of letters you've been writing all this time, but a deep-seated fear of his reaction holds you back, keeps the letters in their corner of your bedroom, gathering dust.

 

You settle for your presence and a pack of cigarettes. Really, that's all he's ever asked you for.

 

The day comes and you're floating. It's like walking on clouds… until Daddy pushes you out for work. At first you're ready to kick a hole in your office door, but then it hits you. He's right. It would be far too suspicious to pick him up.

 

Reluctantly, you keep waiting.

 

Just a few more days becomes tomorrow, and then Dov knocks on your door to let you know someone you'd be interested in seeing is sitting in your father's office.

 

You wouldn't dare let yourself cry in front of Daddy, but God, do you want to. Seeing his face again is like nothing you've ever experienced, and you can practically see the grey clouds lift from his head when you walk through the door.

 

It's hard to keep your cool. That first hug is like morphine, and you can't resist kissing his cheek.

 

That voice, those eyes, the feeling of being pushed down onto the ground and pinned to the soundtrack of his low, raspy laughter is enough to make you delirious. You want to do everything you can to make him feel good now that he's home.

 

So you're a little reckless. You persuade Daddy to put him on this upcoming job. No sweat. He's been nothing but good luck to the business, and you're damn sure you can trust him.

 

You already do with your life.

 

You'd never admit it, but you realize you made a very big mistake the moment you hear about the shooting. You should've known this would happen. Vic has issues under pressure, and you've noticed since he came home that something's… off. Prison has made him significantly less patient, to say the least.

 

When you leave the warehouse though, he seems calm, and everything should work just fine. Sure, Orange is bleeding out and there's a fuckin' cop taped to a chair, but the stones were brought in and Vic is in one piece.

 

Nothing on this earth, no amount of experience or time could've prepared you for seeing him on the floor like that. Dead.

 

Your world is destroyed. Fuck the diamonds. Fuck the job. Fuck Orange, fuck the business, fuck everything you can think of. He was finally home. He was finally back to you. You only had a month with him back before that motherfucker took him away.

 

What's more, his story doesn't even add up. Vic would never betray you like that, not for anything. The cops told him he'd be able to go free if he'd just sell you and Daddy out, but did he? Did he sell you out for himself? No.

 

Fuck, that was how you always knew he loved you. He may not have said it, but he's not the type, and actions speak louder than words anyway. He spent four years in prison for you. Prison. And now he's dead.

 

It feels like your fault.

 

The next hour, or what you live to see of it, goes by in a whirlwind of crazy threats and gunfire. You know you're defending Daddy when you point the gun at Larry, but the reason you're not telling Daddy to back off Orange is because you want him to pay.

 

He made Swiss cheese of your entire world. Let him die.

 

And when Larry shoots you, as you could've guessed he would, your last thoughts aren't those of anger, nor are they of concern.

 

Your only thought is Vic, and how now, in this crazy, roundabout way, you're coming home to him.

 

Funny how that works.

 

 


End file.
